Simple Plans
by timefreak
Summary: Wacky fic - HP characters make proper - and SIMPLE - plans. Cracky, bunch of one-shots.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer - If I was the author of the Harry Potter series, they wouldn't be bestsellers. They wouldn't even be complete. I'm just too lazy.**

**So Voldemort has all these wacky plans. And Harry rushes into situations blindly, getting lucky most of the time... And Dumbledore could probably make a better plan than having three kids roam England looking for pieces of Voldemort's soul.**

**Here's a wacky, hopefully hilarious bunch of one-shots, involving characters making the right and - very importantly, simple - plans.**

**Chapter length will vary. This is just something on the side while I focus on Emerald Eye.**

**Suggestions are welcome. This sort of thing has probably been done before, but then, most things have by this point. I am not trying to copy someone else's fic.**

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_First Year, _

_Albus Dumbledore_

"Quirrell is dangerous," everyone's favorite Potions Master - Severus Snape - informed the Headmaster.

"Hmmm..." Dumbledore stroked his magnificent beard. The secret was in the combing - the old man had used a downward stroked for fifty seven years, devotedly combing his hair every day. Twice.

He looked up at Snape, who was standing back straight, tensed up. Albus smiled at him. Such a good man, so concerned about his students. He couldn't fathom why Minerva complained so much about him.

"Albus?"

"Yes my boy?"

Severus Snape gritted his teeth. He had suspicions about Dumbledore's...tendencies. He didn't like anyone calling him 'my boy', and most certainly not Dumbledore. "What about Quirrell?"

Dumbledore straightened in his seat, twinkling blue eyes staring steadily at the greasy haired man.

"I trust you, Severus."

Snape ground his teeth some more. He already had a headache from earlier in the day - supervising Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter as they tried to make a potion was enough to give anyone a headache.

"Thank you Albus," he managed. "About Quirrell."

"Professor Quirrell, Severus," Dumbledore corrected him absently.

The Potions Master gaped at the Headmaster.

"Yes my boy?"

Snape sighed, and shook his head tiredly. He would need a potion for this headache. "Nothing Headmaster..."

"Call me Albus, my boy. We are colleagues, are we not?"

Severus Snape left, holding on to his last vestiges of sanity.

...

...

Dumbledore grinned in a most uncharacteristic way as the door closed on Severus. At his age, there weren't too many pleasures, but messing with people's heads made his top three.

The Headmaster stood, and did a few simple stretches in preparation. He was surprisingly agile for his age.

Simple warm ups done, he picked up a small iron jar from his desk, popped a Lemon Drop into his mouth, and left.

...

...

"Blrrupllumbumblll... Careful, you fool!"

"I'm sorry Master - Aaaa!"

There were more than a few disadvantages to occupying the back of someone's head, Voldemort had found out.

One was when in the shower. Voldemort-face was quite sensitive, and warm water pelting down on him was not something he enjoyed.

He had to be cleaned though - Voldemort got quite sweaty and dirty under the turban.

It helped his frustration that he could cause Quirrell no little pain whenever the fool annoyed him. Which was often. Very often.

Quirrell stepped out of the shower, using a combination of charms and towel to dry himself.

The Professor quickly pulled on his robes, readying himself for another night in the forbidden forest, chasing Unicorns. They were quite fast. And they had astonishingly strong hindlegs, as Quirrel had found out. He still couldn't eat anything hard, which was a pity, because he really enjoyed green apples.

Voldemort didn't. Green apples just weren't the type of thing an evil overlord would eat.

There was a knock on the door, and Quirrel froze. He wasn't expecting anybody.

"May I come in?"

Albus Dumbledore. Damn.

Quirrell darted around the room, throwing a few books on the Dark Arts under a tablecloth, then took a deep breath and opened the door.

"Of co-course, come i-in." He was a really good actor though, Voldemort had to concede.

Albus Dumbledore stepped in, closed the door, and drew his wand.

Quirrell instantly knew this wasn't going to end well.

There was a reason Dumbledore was the only man the Dark Lord ever feared. He was ridiculously powerful, extremely skilled, highly experienced.

There were some upshots to playing host to Voldemort's soul however - more power, increased skill... Quirrel managed to inelegantly dive away from the blue spell that flew from Dumbledore's wand.

Quirrell put up a shield as the Headmaster of Hogwarts twirled his wand gracefully. Two spells shot out, one red, one white. The red one disspated against the shield, the white one passed through as if the shield weren't there.

Dumbledore followed with a full body bind, capturing Quirrell. The man fell over backwards, the back of his head hitting the hardwood, with a high pitched shriek. That is - Voldemort shrieked, the Dark Lord unaccustomed to flat, hard wooden surfaces. Even if the smell of recently polished wood was so much better than ginger.

Of course, Voldemort didn't know that. He didn't have a nose.

"I'm sorry Tom," Dumbledore apologized, and he actually sounded sorry.

Knowing fleeing...*ahem, strategic retreat was the only option, Voldemort left Quirrel, black mist arrowing away from the back of the man's head...

Dumbledore waved his wand, and whispered an impressive sounding word out loud. He didn't have to say it out loud, but it did feel cool. Voldemort-shade was forced into the iron jar, and Dumbledore screwed the lid on tight. He had already placed numerous wards on the jar, ensuring Voldemort-shade couldn't escape.

And so Voldemort was captured.

Dumbledore could focus on finishing him off for once and for all without any pressure, taking his own time.

Even young Harry could live to die of old age now, Voldemort couldn't influence the boy while in shade-form. He had many years to find a way to extract the soul-piece from Harry. If all else failed, Voldemort could be destroyed after Harry had died.

A very satisfactory day's work, Dumbledore decided.

As he walked back to his office to shut the jar away, Dumbledore thought back on his previous plan and chuckled. Keeping the Philosopher's Stone in a school full of children to bait Voldemort - how ridiculous it seemed now.

Still, that plan did seem so much cooler, this one was rather anticlimatic.

Unwrapping another Lemon Drop, Dumbledore turned his thoughts to Christmas. He did so hope someone would gift him socks this time.

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**Thank you for reading, please do let me know what you think.**

**I'll write out scenes as I think of them. Do give me ideas, suggestions.**

**toodles,**  
**Timefreak**


	2. Chapter 2

**A little something while I work on To Master The Dark...**

**Are all evil magic rituals horrifying and brutal? Well, here's a crack-y take on it.**

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_Many years ago,  
__Tom Marvolo Riddle,  
__a.k.a. He-who-shall-not-be-named,  
__a.k.a. You-know-who,  
__a.k.a. Lord Voldemort_

Lord Voldemort took deep breaths, fighting off the fatigue.

On the ground in front of him lay one dead spider, one disemboweled mouse, and the burnt figure of Ken.

Yeah, the barbie doll Ken.

All around him, the ground was stained crimson. By the side, several emptied cans of ketchup lay crushed.

His stomach protested against the recent mistreatment. Numerous colored bits of paper dotted the even stone floor.

Wrappers.

Voldemort liked chocolate, he really did. But making this horcrux required him to eat fourteen chocolate frogs, three liquorice wands, seventeen blackcurrant ice cream cones, and seven pink-colored Bertie Bott's beans - strawberry flavor.

Lord Voldemort hated strawberry. It was so..._red_. Bright. It reminded him of sunshine and spring, and he was a Dark Lord.

Dark Lords thought of fire and brimestone, thunder and lightning flashing beneath a stormy sky. Not spring and sunshine.

Voldemort staggered a few steps forward, his stomach bulging quite noticeably. He groaned, wishing for the gazillionth time that Dark Rituals were easier.

Why couldn't it be murdering someone with a suitably wicked looking curved dagger, or something like that? Voldemort was all up for murder.

He was a Dark Lord after all. It was in the description.

Ahead of him, lay a small silver plate, charmed to stay cold. A small, black pebble lay on it, covered with crimson. Voldemort carefully wiped the ketchup with a finger, and stuck the finger in his mouth.

He did so like ketchup. Voldemort was one of _those people_. _Those people_, who'd have ketchup with french fries, not french fries with ketchup. One of _those people_ who poured bottles of ketchup on a single wretched slice of pizza, despite said slice being nothing but cheese, bread and ketchup in the first place.

Voldemort picked up the pebble. Groaning and moaning, he made a few complicated wand motions. The pebble pulsed with blue light, and then disappeared.

Many miles away, the pebble fell with a soft plop into the Atlantic ocean.

Voldemort burped, almost doubling over from the pain in his stomach. He was always ill after these blasted rituals.

Nonetheless, he felt quite satisfied. Nobody was going to find that horcrux now.

"I will rule the world!" Voldemort hissed out, even if no one was there to hear him. He was a Dark Lord after all. That's what Dark Lord's did. Someone had to extrapolate for the audience.

Immortality was his!

He would crush all those in his way!

His foes would tremble at his name!

He would rule the world!

Lord Voldemort bent over and puked.

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**Hoped you liked it.**

**Do review, and let me know what you thought of it. Suggestions/requests are welcome.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer - Own, I don't, Harry Potter**

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**Voldemort,**

**First Year**

Quirrel c-c-carefully unwrapped his turban, being careful not to hurt the Dark Lord. Even the movement of cloth against his face would make Voldemort angry, and Quirrell didn't want that.

"Turn around," his master hissed.

Quirrell did as he was asked, wondering what was going to happen.

"Aaaaaa!"

Quirrell jerked around, to come face to face with a...ghost.

A shrieking ghost,screaming at the top of her non existent lungs, right in his face.

"Aaaaaaaaa!"

"Aaaaaaaaa!" Quirrel replied.

"Aaaaaaaaa!"

"Aaaaaaaa!"

"Aaaaaaa!"

"Aaa- ow, ow, ah, ouch!"

Moaning Myrtle stopped. "Are you in pain?"

Quirrell groaned and nodded. Voldemort was quite unhappy with all the noise.

"Oh, good!" Myrtle rubbed her ghostly hands together, and took in a deep breath.

"AAAAAAAAAAA-"

"Stop the girl!" Voldemort commanded.

"-AAAAAAAAAA-"

"Sssshhh!" Quirrell tried to hush her, putting a finger over his lips for effect.

"-AAAAAAAAA-"

"Make her stop!" Voldemort ordered.

"-AAAAAAAAAA-"

"..."

"-AAAAAAAAA-"

"How can you even scream so long?" Quirrell wondered.

"-AAAAAAAA- huh?" Myrtle paused and shrugged. "I don't need air do I?"

"True," Quirrell acknowledged. "You're dead."

Myrtle widened her eyes at him, and burst into tears.

"I know I'm dead!" she wailed. "And you're mean!"

Quirrell looked on in confusion as the ghost arrowed away, shooting through a closed stall.

"She's gone," Quirrell informed the Dark Lord. "I drove her off."

"Of course you did," Voldemort muttered discontentedly. How he wished he could have some capable wizard to do his bidding, instead of this fool.

"Thank you my Lord," Quirrell enthused, apparently taking that as a compliment.

Voldemort simply sighed. There was only so much ranting even an Evil Overlord could do.

"Face the sink and turn around," he ordered.

Voldemort-face ensured they were facing the correct tap. And then he whispered. He could have spoken at a normal decibel, but the whisper made for better drama.

"_Open_."

Nothing happened.

"M-master? Di-did you say anything?"

Voldemort gritted his teeth, sent a lance of pain at Quirrell. The whimpering noise his minion made was most satisfying.

"_Open_!" Voldemort commanded, his tone louder than before.

"Before you, Quirinius," Voldemort intoned, "lies the Chamber of Secrets."

It was a _dun-dun-dun_ moment.

"Master?" Quirrell asked nervously.

Voldemort would have nodded, but he didn't have control of the neck muscles, so he settled for an affirmative "Yes?"

"I can't see."

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Quirrell stalked through the halls of Hogwarts, the back of his head cackling madly.

Well, not madly. _*Ahem_, no. Not madly. And Voldemort wasn't cackling. He was laughing evilly. There was a difference.

Really.

So, cack- laughing madly, Quirrelmort stalked through Hogwarts.

In order, he came upon Argus Filch, , an unnamed third year, an unnamed fourth year, an unnamed fifth year, an unnamed sixth year, and an unnamed seventh year.

All of them died, the yellow orbs of the Basilisk slithering alongside Quirrelmort sending them to the next great adventure.

It wasn't a big deal. Nobody liked the caretaker or his cat, and the rest were unnamed students. Who cares about them?

Also, they were Slytherins.

That was sort of racist, but all Slytherins are slimy, slimy snakes who cannot be trusted and will commit vile and unspeakable acts and will become dark wizards/witches.

That was racist too.

Well, at least that's why the reader and author can sleep easily. Voldemort was just a prick, who didn't care about collateral damage.

Fluffy was next. And then the basilisk simply flattened the Devils Sprout, barged through the door in the flying-keys room, stormed across the chess board, and put out the fires with massive swipes of its tail.

Quirrelmort stood in front of the Mirror of Erised.

Nothing happened.

"Let me see..."

Quirrel removed his turban.

The first thing Lord Voldemort saw was the giant basilisk, its massive yellow orbs staring right at him.

That was also the last thing he saw.

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Thank you for reading. Suggestions for future chapters are welcome.

And now I shamelessly advertise for my other, much more serious fic - To Master the Dark. Go read it.

toodles,

timefreak


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer - see chapter one. Or two or three.**

**Shameless advertising - my other fic, To Master The Dark**

**So here's another one. Suggestions are welcome. Read on.**

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_Sirius Black_

_Third Year_

Professor Remus Lupin was munching contently on a large piece of toast, absolutely covered in butter.

The bread was toasted to perfection, just the way he liked it. Golden flakes fell onto the plate below as he took another enormous bite.

"Really Remus, must you completely slather your toast in butter? It's practically dripping."

The werewolf tried in vain to fight down a blush. Years after he had passed out of Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall still had the ability to make him feel like he was five.

"No Professor," he replied, unable to stop the response.

McGonagall looked highly amused, perhaps even satisfied. Two places over, Snape scowled.

Well, scowled _more_. He did his hardest to be the scariest, meanest teacher in the school, but many students both liked her, and were terrified of her. Even the Weasley twins were scared of her, and they weren't scared of him! His black eyes searched with purpose, landing on the diabolical duo. The twins were whispering together, and Snape fixed them with his best glare-of-death.

Down, somewhere around the middle of the Gryffindor Table, the twins seemed to sense his gaze and looked up at him. They both waved merrily and resumed their whispered conversation.

"If looks could kill..." Fred muttered.

"I have a bad feeling he's going to be worse than usual," George whispered. They didn't really need to whisper, but they enjoyed the paranoia their whispering seemed to induce in their fellow students. And teachers. Even now, the students across them were eyeing them very carefully.

"He will be," George replied matter-of-factly. "We swapped his dead toads for lives one, didn't we? He'll know it was us."

"Detention tonight," Fred agreed. He didn't seem to be very unhappy with the thought. When you've done as many detentions as he had...

"Detention," echoed George, before a grin split his face. "Worth it."

All the students around them left in a hurry as the terror twins cracked identical smiles, with a little evil cackling thrown in.

Remus Lupin observed all this, smiling to himself. The Weasley twins were really brilliant. If only they applied half their potential to their test papers... a frown crossed his face as he remembered their answer papers he had corrected the night before.

Horrendous, really. Their answers had almost given him a headache.

A small barn owl winged it's way towards the front table, and settled down in front of the werewolf.

He looked in surprise at the bird. "For me?"

The owl hooted. Remus got the feeling that it would roll its eyes if it could.

The professor untied the letter, and the owl flew away. He finished his glass of juice and leaned back, opening the letter.

_Dear Moony_

_I recently got my hands on an owl. I was about to buy a Firebolt and use the owl to send it to him when I had a wonderful idea. I could send a letter to you, and explain everything._

_Genius, really. I should have done this a long time ago, as soon as I broke out of Azkaban._

_A stroke of brilliance. Like that time I had that idea involving butterbeer, the girls dormitory and three cats. Remember that one? Of course you do, I can almost see the grin on your face, you pervy old Professor, you!_

_Seriously. (haha-pun!) Just read this letter through. I was not the secret keeper. _

_I repeat, I was not the secret keeper. _

_Peter was the secret keeper. He betrayed James and Lily. I cornered him, and he framed me. _

_I have proof. Peter is at Hogwarts right now. The rat is hiding in his animagus form as the Weasleys pet. He's been living in the same dormitory as Harry for ages! _

_I'm so sorry Moony, I thought you might be the traitor in our ranks. Please forgive me. It was Peter all along. You can make it right Remy-poo (remember Cassie? Hah, I do. Three disastrous dates for you, three priceless memories for me.) _

_Capture the rat, and get my name cleared. _

_I have faith in you Moony. _

_Seriously,_

_Sirius_

_or Padfoot_

_also known as Stubby_

_also known as The Gryffindor Pest_

_the student with the most detentions in a single month ( I know you're still jealous)_

_P.S. - Can you please buy yourself some nice robes. I've seen you walking around the grounds, and you look like an idiot. _

_P.P.S. - Now I'm thinking I should just corner you when you're walking the grounds and explain everything to you. But this is the longest letter I've ever written, it would be a shame not to send it._

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Sirius Black was a free man, less than a week later.

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**Thank you for reading.**

**Recommendation - The Many Harry Potters of Little Hangleton, by VivyPotter. Absolutely hilarious. Very enjoyable.**

**Suggestions, feedback is very welcome.**

**toodles,  
timefreak**


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